


how 'bout a change of scene

by darcyreid (bucketfulloffandom)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Historical Inaccuracies, M/M, darcy is a giant fuckign sap, endgame billdarcy..... to no one's surprise, ghey, katherine is the real mvp, the other newsies are there but in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/darcyreid
Summary: Darcy, despite all his educated upbringing, learns something new from the rough-and-tumble newsies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> an attempt to get out of a horrid writing slump that's been keeping me from writing shit for the hamilton fic jesse and i are working on. ended up being a lot longer than i thought it would be.
> 
> Anyways™ hey everyone i'm the captain and sole passenger of the billdarcy canoe what's up

Darcy soon realizes that the newsboys are very, very different than the people he usually spends his time with.

Spot Conlon punches Morris Delancey in the face on the way home from a visit to the Manhattan newsies one day, grins viciously, and carries merrily on his way.

In jest, Romeo clutches a quarter dramatically to his chest like he'd die without it, while Specs and Mush shuffle around him like a pair of wolves closing in on their prey, as if 25 cents is life-or-death.

Jack Kelly kisses David Jacobs behind the lodging house. Darcy is sure he is not meant to see this.

Jack Kelly takes David Jacobs’ face in his hands and kisses him hard, and David Jacobs kisses back with the fervor of someone touch-starved—which, Darcy realizes, may be just the case.

Darcy turns around and walks away unnoticed. What the newsboys do away from prying eyes is not his concern.

 

There's a newsboy everyone calls “Laces”. Darcy does not know why he's named this, and does not ask. He's learned that oftentimes there’s no real rhyme or reason for anything these boys do, and has subsequently given up on trying to figure it out.

Laces is tall, with an easy smile and quick feet—one of the older newsies, possibly around Darcy’s age.

(It's always hard to know for sure, with these boys. If they're not orphans, they're runaways, and if they're not runaways, well. Chances are they don't have folks to go home to at night anyways. Half the kids don't have birthdays. An accurate estimate of their age is something they can only hope for.)

Laces smiles at Darcy a lot, more than he does at anyone else. There's something about the way he looks at Darcy that makes him pause, makes him furrow his brow and smile bemusedly back. Laces makes a joke about the newspaper empire Darcy is entrenched in. Darcy laughs—a genuine, throaty laugh—and answers with a sarcastic remark about the conditions of the newsboys’ lodging house. Laces throws his head back when he laughs, as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, as if Darcy is the funniest person he's ever met.

And somehow this exchange leads to five, ten, fifty more, and somehow a hundred exchanges later finds Darcy Reid behind the lodging house, tucked away in a hidden corner, and Laces is there, his hands clutching Darcy’s lapels and his breath stirring Darcy’s curls.

Darcy opens his mouth, but no words come out. Laces hesitates; an unspoken question passes between them.

Darcy gulps, the sound loud in the heavy silence. Then, Laces shakes his head, flashes a smile, and kisses him.

Everything Darcy knows tells him this is wrong, _this isn’t right, stop this now before it’s too late_ \- but he's sliding a hand up to grip Laces’ vest and kissing back before he can stop himself, and it’s good.

Laces pulls back, smiling again, but it's a steadier smile this time, one that Darcy returns wholeheartedly. And just like that, he's ruined.

 

Darcy begins to understand the fine art of stolen kisses and hurried moments in the dark. Laces is better at finding quiet alleys than Darcy—no doubt because he's grown up on these streets. He’ll catch Darcy’s eye, smile and incline his head the slightest bit before slipping out of the mid-morning rush for Darcy to follow.

This time, when Darcy trips into the side alley, a frequent haunt by now, Laces skips the cursory “how are you”s entirely, slipping Darcy’s hat off and cupping his jaw as he kisses him.

“Impatient,” Darcy says between quick, heated kisses. “Did you miss me that badly?”

Laces exhales a laugh against Darcy’s lips. “Guess so.” He rubs his thumb over Darcy’s cheek, gazing down at him. “You haven't come to visit the boys in a while.”

“Things have been busy at home, and with the paper...” Darcy frowns. “If you think I've been scarce, you should see how Bill is, the poor soul.”

“Your friend Bill? Heir to the Hearst empire?”

Darcy can't help but snort. “You could call him that, yes.”

Laces seems to pause for a moment, thoughtful. “Why’s he ever coming around here anyways? He ain't old friends with Kelly’s girl like you are, is he?”

“No,” Darcy admits. “Though he is friends with me, so perhaps he thinks he's obligated to accompany me once in a while.”

“You and your fancy words,” Laces says with a warm smile. “Have mercy on this poor street boy, oh genius.”

Darcy flushes. “Shut it, you know exactly what I'm saying.”

“That's not the point.”

“Stop it,” Darcy mutters, tugging on Laces’ suspenders. “You are such a nuisance.”

Laces hums agreement and leans in for another kiss, smiling against Darcy’s lips. Darcy wonders vaguely in the back of his mind why Laces brought the topic of the young Bill Hearst up, but when Laces’ hands find their way into his hair, he comes to the conclusion that that's a question for another time.

 

The next time Darcy visits the newsies, it's with Bill in tow; the Hearst son trails along behind Darcy with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his hat jammed low over his forehead, as if he's ashamed to be there. Darcy doesn't comment on it.

Katherine greets the two of them enthusiastically from her seat on the lodging house steps, surrounded by a group of boys.

“Darcy, Bill! Good to see you—I was just explaining to Finch here how the printing press works, maybe one of you two want to step in? I figure you know more than I do,” she chirps cheerfully. The scrawny boy named Finch and several of his companions turn towards them, anticipating.

“I have something I need to ask Mister Kelly,” Darcy says, “but I'm sure Bill would be happy to help.” He glances at Bill, who stares back at him with an expression that’s somewhere between _why am I here_ and _how could you do this to me_. “Yes?”

Bill blinks, shakes himself. “R- Of course. Yes.” He shoots Darcy a glare that Darcy can't help but snicker at, then puts on a graceful smile and strolls over to take a seat on the steps with the rest.

Darcy stops a passing newsboy—the charmer known as Romeo—and asks, “Is Mister Kelly around?”

“Who, Jack? Yeah, I just saw him going back that way.” Romeo points in the direction of the far side of the lodging house. “Why, got a question for him?”

“I suppose I do,” Darcy answers slowly. “Thank you, Romeo.”

“Hey, I got you,” Romeo grins. “Don't even think about it.”

Darcy walks briskly towards where Romeo pointed him, steadies himself before rounding the corner of the building.

Sure enough, Jack Kelly and David Jacobs spring apart, the latter bright red and the former already spluttering frantic excuses. He falls silent when he notices how Darcy is looking at them: not surprised, or appalled, but perhaps a little bit knowing.

“Do you have a moment to spare, Mister Kelly?” Darcy inquires quietly.

David looks like he might faint on the spot.

“I- sure,” Jack stammers. Turning to David, he mumbles, “I’ll be out in a bit, just be normal.” David nods and darts past Darcy. “A moment to spare.” He watches David hurry off, then turns to Darcy, opens his mouth to speak.

“I already knew,” Darcy says before Jack can even begin. “Don't worry.”

“Wha-” Jack does a double-take. “How?”

“There are no doors keeping people out back here, Mister Kelly,” Darcy reminds him gently.

Jack blushes a deeper shade of red. “So- you don't… you don't care, or-”

Darcy shakes his head. “No, I… I wanted to ask you. About that, in a way.”

“About me and Davey?” Jack laughs only a little nervously. “Now, buddy, I ain't a tell-all kinda guy.”

“No, just-” Darcy reaches instinctively for his hat, the way he does when he's at a loss for words. Holding it to his chest, he says, “Laces. You know him?”

“Laces? Of course I do. He's a legend in the Bronx and Woodside, you know. Some of the boys out there like to say he took on a whole buncha scabs and two bulls on horseback once. And won. Why?” Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don't mean…”

Darcy stays silent and lets Jack figure it out for himself.

“Shit,” Jack says under his breath. “I never had any idea.”

“He knows how to be subtle,” Darcy remarks.

“Damn right.” Jack blinks hard a few times, fixes his gaze back on Darcy. “So, uh. What'd you wanna ask me?”

Darcy runs his fingers around the brim of his hat, shrugging. “I intended to ask you if you knew about our circumstances, but you've answered that already.” He replaces his hat on his head and holds his hand out to shake. “Well, thank you for the time, and sorry for... interrupting.” He barely manages to stop from smiling at the fresh color that comes to Jack’s cheeks at that.

Jack, however, doesn't take his hand, frowning. “You… You haven't heard yet, have you?”

“Heard…?”

The suddenly solemn expression on Jack’s face has Darcy’s stomach sinking in dread. “Laces did what even I couldn't,” Jack says slowly.

“I don't know what you mean,” Darcy replies—but he does, knows before Jack even continues.

“He left town- went out west. Just the other day.” Jack laughs, but there's no actual mirth in it. “He's been saving up for ages ‘til he had enough for a ticket out.”

Darcy feels sick. The ground spins under his feet as he says, “He- you're sure?” Jack nods. “He never mentioned anything about going west, I...”

Jack grips Darcy’s hand tightly. “I'm sorry.”

Darcy is glad the newsboy’s holding onto him, because otherwise, the earth may just give way underneath him and send him tumbling into a darkness he doesn't understand.

 

Darcy doesn't deserve Bill’s friendship.

Even though there's no way he would have any idea why Darcy’s been so under-the-weather the past few days, Bill senses something’s wrong the moment he sees him.

“Are you especially busy today?” he asks.

“Just some paperwork,” Darcy answers without looking up. He tries to focus on the tiny print of The World, almost bumping into a light pole if it weren't for Bill hooking a finger in the back of his collar and halting him.

“Alright, then in that case, you're coming with me,” Bill says resolutely. “We’re taking a day off in Central Park.”

Darcy splutters protests, but Bill is already dragging him down the street. “My father won't be happy-”

“Well obviously you aren't either, and I'm not having that.” Bill looks back at him, grinning. “Darcy Reid isn't allowed to mope when I'm around as long as I can help it.”

So Darcy finds himself seated in the grass of Central Park overlooking the boat pond, Bill lying on his back next to him looking up at the sky. It's a frankly beautiful day; the sky is blue and dotted with white clouds, dappling the green expanse of the park with shadows.

“Better?” Bill asks.

“Yeah,” Darcy murmurs. “Thank you, Bill.”

“Any day.” Bill’s voice is soft. “Any time.”

 

Someone knocks on the front door. Darcy doesn't look up from his paper, until he remembers that he's home alone and he jumps up to get the door.

“Marie, out of the way,” he shoos the cat, stepping over the black and white lump on the doormat. “Hello-”

He freezes as he opens the door, world twisting for a second before it settles just as abruptly back when he realizes the tall man on his front step is a neatly dressed Bill Hearst Jr, not the ragged newsboy he thought he'd seen. “Bill,” Darcy stutters out. “I- good morning, what brings you here?”

“I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” Bill asks. “It's not anything urgent, if I'm bothering-”

“No, not at all, I was just going over today’s issue of The Trib,” Darcy assures him. “Come in, please.”

It never occurred to him before now just how similar Bill and Laces look, Darcy thinks to himself as Bill smiles apologetically and steps inside. They have the same slender build and light brown hair, noses that turn up at the end. He follows Bill into the house, shaking the thoughts from his head.

“Are you home alone?” Bill asks, poking his head into another hall as they make their way to the living room.

“Yes—my father’s at the office and the maid’s nursing a new baby,” Darcy replies shortly.

Bill turns to face him. “And your mother?”

“Visiting family in Philadelphia.”

Bill is silent for a while, chewing on his lower lip as his gaze darts up and down Darcy’s frame. Darcy figures he should be uncomfortable, should break the silence and get to whatever it is Bill is here for, but he doesn't, isn’t. He just watches Bill, and waits.

Finally, Bill meets his eyes, and says, almost too quietly for Darcy to hear, “I knew about that newsboy and you.”

“You did.” Darcy can't seem to find the words to speak.

“I did.” Bill pauses, brow furrowing. “Did anyone else?”

“Mister Jack Kelly did,” Darcy says, “after Laces—the newsboy—had already left. How did you know?”

“You were always slipping away with him. I followed you once, saw the two of you…” Bill swallows heavily.

Another long silence. Then, “Are you a homosexual, Darcy?”

Oh.

“I… I don't know.”

Bill blinks at him—doesn't recoil, doesn't sneer, just blinks.

“Does kissing another boy make me a homosexual?”

“I don't know, Darcy. I hope not.”

Darcy flinches. “Why?”

“Because I would very much like to kiss you, but being a sodomite makes life much harder around these parts.”

 _Oh_.

“By definition, sodomy is one thing,” Darcy says. He's not in control of his words anymore; he's just _talking_ , saying things he never would if his mind was caught up with his mouth. But it's not, so- “Kissing is another, I think.”

And then Bill takes a step forward, and Darcy meets him halfway, and their lips collide, and Bill breathes _Darcy_ against his skin and Darcy murmurs _I know_ back—because he _does_ know, suddenly—because suddenly everything makes sense, and he _knows_. And just like that, he’s powerless.

 

“How long?” Darcy asks one day. Bill turns away from the raucous scene unfolding in front of them—Albert running across the room with a cursing Racetrack close behind, a crowd of newsies jeering from their perches on the tables—with a quizzical look.

“How long…?”

Darcy glances around to make sure no one is looking their way, then takes one of Bill’s hands in his. “How long did you want this?”

Bill stares down at their intertwined fingers. “How long… God, if I’m going to be honest with myself and you- a year, I estimate.” He laughs softly. “Since you started escorting Katherine in the mornings.”

Darcy raises an eyebrow. “Were you wishing you could be in Katherine’s place?” he teases. “Have the good gentleman Reid take your arm as you walk down the street to the press?”

“I refuse to dignify that with a response,” Bill sniffs.

It's comfortable, then, just the two of them, out of the spotlight, away from the scrutiny of their parents, Bill’s hand a soft warmth in Darcy’s.

Bill squeezes their fingers tighter together, then says, “Were you in love with that newsboy—Laces?”

Darcy glances sideways at him. “So we’re just asking all the questions today, are we?”

“One for one,” Bill shrugs. “It's only fair.”

“I suppose.” Darcy inhales deeply, sighs. “I don't think I was. I- I don't know. It was _good_ , but it wasn't… something lasting. I haven't missed him since the first two weeks after he left.”

Bill nods in understanding. Before he can respond, however, Katherine comes bouncing up to them out of a cluster of newsies, grinning. They let go of each other’s hands hurriedly; Darcy hopes his blush isn't as obvious as it feels.

Katherine doesn't seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. “Here.” She hands them both a glass each. Bill sniffs it. “It's just seltzer water,” Katherine tells him. “We’re celebrating the one year anniversary since the boys showed my father that they're able to stand up for themselves.”

Darcy smiles. “That's something worth celebrating.” Bill murmurs agreement. “To rebellion.”

Bill laughs quietly and Katherine’s grin widens as the three of them take a drink from their cups. They sit in a content sort of silence for a few moments, the newsies screaming and yelling in the background all the while, before Bill says, “Well, Katherine, it was wonderful seeing you again.” He shakes her hand briefly, flashes Darcy an apologetic smile. “My father expects me back at the office no later than a quarter after noon.” Darcy watches him go, returns the wave he gives right before exiting the diner.

When he turns back to Katherine, she has a strange look on her face, something knowing but unsure at the same time. “Are the two of you… you know?”

Darcy’s jaw drops. “You- you know?”

Katherine’s grin grows steadily. “He cares a lot about you, Darc. I can tell—I've seen the way he looks at you.” She punches him in the shoulder playfully. “And I've seen the way you look at _him_ , you giant sap.” Darcy flushes. “You really like him, don't you?”

“I suppose so,” Darcy mumbles. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” Katherine says, all good nature. “I'm happy for you. You deserve someone like him.”

Darcy doesn't respond, cheeks burning. Katherine, sensing his embarrassment, raises her glass.

“A toast. To the best for you two,” she announces.

Darcy smiles and raises his glass as well. He abruptly meets Jack Kelly’s eyes from across the diner; the newsie’s gaze is warm, like he knows what's going on and is glad for it. Darcy smiles a little wider and nods at him. Jack beams back and downs the rest of his drink, then stands up on his table and yells for the newsies’ attention.

As the newsboys gather around Jack, chattering, and Katherine sits on Darcy’s table next to him, rests her elbow on his head, Darcy suddenly finds himself at home: an old friend by his side, new ones around him, and the feeling of knowing where he belongs.

Coming off of some other rousing statement, Jack cries, “And let me hear it for our great friends Darcy and Bill!”

The newsboys cheer, their collective voices deafening. Darcy laughs and bows his head in thanks.

This is home.

 

Darcy realizes that the newsboys are very, very different than the people he usually spends is time with.

Romeo and Specs start a mock turf war between the Manhattan newsies, complete with not two, but three different miniature boroughs fighting over sections of the town square.

Albert socks Racetrack in the stomach and runs off like a shot, cackling, just for the thrill of it.

Jack Kelly kisses Davey Jacobs behind the lodging house. Darcy doesn't need to see it to know it happens.

Darcy Reid kisses Bill Hearst Jr. in the hidden corners of Central Park on days off, takes his hands in his and presses his lips to Bill’s oh-so-carefully, and Bill responds with just the same slow passion, smiling into it.

And Darcy is so, so glad.


End file.
